They do not call me “Tom” any more
by Possum132
Summary: They both knew that Tom didn’t really want the Defence Against the Dark Arts job and that Albus wasn’t going to give it to him – so what was really going on between the two most powerful wizards since Merlin on that dark and snowy night?
1. Armando Dippet

**They do not call me "Tom" any more**

_I'm sure the portraits in the Headmaster's study watched the showdown between Albus and Tom with rapt attention, but for one of them at least it must have been a painful and disillusioning experience._

**Chapter 1**

**Armando Dippet**

Of course, as a teacher – and especially as a Headmaster – he ought not to have had favourites, but he couldn't help being very fond of Tom, and he really would have liked to have been able to make arrangements for him to stay at the school over the summer holidays, even though it meant obtaining special permission from the Board of Governors. Well intentioned though the Muggles at his orphanage might be, the boy loved Hogwarts, and it was very hard on Tom to send him back to a place where he had to conceal his magic, and where there was not one single person he had anything in common with. And he'd been very proud of the decent way that Tom had spoken up for Hagrid when that poor girl had been killed by Hagrid's spider, they'd hushed it all up, said it had been an accident – as it was, because Hagrid hadn't meant any harm, he just didn't understand that monsters don't make good pets. So it had only been expulsion, and he'd let Albus persuade him to allow Hagrid stay at Hogwarts, as Ogg's assistant. And after all, where could Hagrid go, if he had to leave Hogwarts? His father was dead, and as for his mother – well, less said about that the better.

When the time came for Tom to leave Hogwarts, he'd expected that Tom would go into the Ministry, everyone had thought that the Ministry was the perfect choice for such a brilliant student, but the dear boy seemed to think that he didn't have the right kind of background for a career in politics. Both he and Horace had assured him that they would do everything they could to put him in touch with useful contacts – and plenty of half-bloods, even Muggle-borns, had risen to high office within the Ministry - but Tom had refused all offers. And he'd been really quite upset when he heard that Tom had taken a position with Borgin and Burkes - a boy with his talent and ability working as an assistant in a _shop_, and although the business was outwardly respectable, the premises were in Knockturn Alley and the partners were known to handle merchandise of a certain kind. He'd even thought that perhaps he'd made a mistake in refusing Tom the position he'd asked for when Galatea Merrythought retired, but as Albus had pointed out, Tom was really too young to teach at Hogwarts, he was still only a boy himself.

And then there'd been that awful business with one of Caractacus Burke's best customers, Hepzibah Smith had been poisoned by a poor befuddled old house-elf, and some very valuable treasures had vanished from her collection – and Tom had vanished, too; travelling on the Continent, so it was said. There had been ugly rumours from time to time over the next ten years, but he preferred not to believe them, people always do gossip - and wizards of a certain calibre have always been drawn to explore some aspects of magic ...

Even so, when he'd heard that Tom had discarded the name Tom Riddle and now preferred to be known as Lord Voldemort, he'd been a little alarmed, because the name had a dark, disturbing, sinister ring to it. And when Tom had walked through the study door, he'd been shocked, because Tom had been such a delightful, handsome boy, and now he looked ghastly. The once finely-cut features were blurred and burned, waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes had a bloody look – and he'd recognised straightaway the signs of numerous, dangerous magical transformations.

But when Albus had said that he'd heard the whispers of Tom's doings since he'd left school, and he would be sorry to believe half of them, he'd still hoped that Tom would deny the rumours, provide some explanation that he could believe – but the red glow in Tom's eyes when he'd boasted of pushing the boundaries of magic further than they'd ever been pushed had been frightening, and the taut leer that appeared on Tom's face when Albus had told him that there were some kinds of magic of which he was woefully ignorant had been an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.

Now both Tom and Albus are on their feet, there's a dreadful look of fury and hatred on Tom's face - this monster is hardly recognisable as the Tom Riddle he'd known as a boy – and Albus is looking deeply saddened and saying something that he doesn't understand about a burning wardrobe and forcing Tom to make repayment for his crimes.

Tom's hand is twitching towards his pocket and his wand, it's unbelievable but Tom is actually about to attack Albus - he's too shocked even to shout a warning and then the moment passes, Tom turns away, the door is closing and Tom is gone.


	2. Tom Riddle

**Chapter 2**

**Tom Riddle**

He'd left Nott, Rosier, Mulciber and Dolohov at the Hog's Head and apparated alone to the gates of Hogwarts, and he'd felt the same thrill of joy at the sight of the tall pillars on either side of the gates, each topped with a winged boar, that he'd felt as a student at the beginning of each term. He'd long ago surpassed what they'd taught him at the school, but the place still feels like home, it's where he'd been happiest, and it's the place where he'd learned who he was - the Heir of Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four, and the wizard who is destined to be the greatest sorcerer in the world. And during the long walk up from the gates through the falling snow towards the dark castle – it was Christmas holidays and only a few of the windows were showing lights - he'd recalled pleasant memories of Christmas in his student years, when most of the students and staff had deserted the castle and he'd been left in peace to explore that stronghold of ancient magic. And if as a mere teenager he'd been able to open the Chamber of Secrets, what might he discover now? That's if Dumbledore will give him the job - and that is not certain, because Dumbledore never seemed to like him as much as the other teachers did. Not that Dumbledore can have more than a suspicion, because he'd been so careful to make sure that not even the portraits or the ghosts saw anything, but he'd made a mistake when he'd told Dumbledore that he could speak to snakes, because how hard is to draw the connection between a Parselmouth and Slytherin's monster?

His "friends", as he was pleased to call them, had been surprised that he sought a mere teaching post at Hogwarts, but they lacked vision, they lacked subtlety, they failed to understand how influential a role a teacher can play – and not even Grindelwald had been able to take over the Muggle world in a day. No, it had taken years of preparation, years of positioning the pieces on the board, before Grindelwald had been able to set the Muggles on to fight each other, tooth and nail. And Grindelwald had been a great wizard, a very great wizard, even if in the end he'd shown himself to be a coward. Dumbledore had been too squeamish to kill Grindelwald and rather than face trial Grindelwald had chosen death, the last refuge of the weak – Grindelwald had killed himself in prison with the aid of the Muggle tools of a rope and a chair. And he still marvels over that, because there is _nothing_ worse than death - not dishonour, and not loss of freedom.

The scuttling house-elf had led him to the Headmaster's study, and he'd paused for a moment before knocking on the door because he needed to prepare his defences - Dumbledore is a skilled Legilimens, even without using his wand – and when the well-remembered voice had called him to enter, he hadn't been surprised to see that the damned phoenix was perched in a corner, and the collection of whirring silver contraptions had been moved from the Transfiguration Master's study to the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore had greeted him politely and gestured towards a chair, he'd taken a seat and made some conventional remark about Dumbledore being a worthy choice as Headmaster. Dumbledore had offered him a drink, and while Dumbledore was busy pouring the wine, he'd looked around the room for the object that really interested him - Gryffindor's sword – and then Dumbledore had, ingenuously, asked him to what he owed the pleasure of their meeting, as if he hadn't guessed! Oh, he can't read Dumbledore's mind without using his wand, Dumbledore is as skilled in Occlumency as he is in Legilimency, but Dumbledore must know why he's come back to Hogwarts.

It had annoyed him that Dumbledore used the name "Tom", as if he were still a student being spoken to by a master, as if he were still that ignorant little Muggle-raised boy who had to be told to address his teacher as "Professor" or "sir" – so he'd sipped his wine for a moment, thinking over how to handle the situation, and finally he'd said, "They do not call me 'Tom' any more. These days I am known as - "

But Dumbledore had made it quite clear that he hadn't forgotten the orphanage, he hadn't forgotten that the half-blood Tom Riddle didn't have the right background for a career in politics - he'd said, "I know what you are known as. But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers, I am afraid, that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

He'd felt a stab of rage, not just because he doesn't care for the name "Tom", but because he suspected a veiled threat behind the words - is Dumbledore hinting at something more than the shame of the orphanage? Does Dumbledore know something of the filthy Muggle Tom Riddle and the Gaunt family, and of what happened at Little Hangleton so many years ago?

But he'd controlled himself - he can swallow an insult if it's the price he has to pay for the job that he wants - and he'd asked the obvious question, asked why Dumbledore had wanted the position of Headmaster when he could have been Minister for Magic, when he could have had power over the whole of wizarding Britain, and not just a school with a handful of students. Dumbledore had had said something about the importance of helping to hone young minds, and referred, obliquely, to the occasion when Dippet had refused him the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. And that had confirmed what he'd suspected at the time; Dumbledore had advised against the appointment, Dumbledore must have advised against it, because brave, clever, handsome Tom Riddle – Head Boy and model student - could twist old Armando Dippet around his little finger. So he'd said that he still saw the attraction of a teaching position and he merely wondered Dumbledore wanted to stay at the school when he had twice been offered the post of Minister.

And then Dumbledore had rubbed his nose in the fact that the hero of the Grindelwald war could have the Ministry for the asking, he'd said, "Three times at the last count, actually. But the Ministry has never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

He taken another sip of wine while he considered if there was a hidden meaning to Dumbledore's words – did Dumbledore guess the extent of his ambitions? Did Dumbledore have an inkling of his plans? But it seemed a ridiculous fancy, Dumbledore was only scoring points, only putting the upstart young Slytherin in his place - so he'd dismissed the idea, and put all his cards on the table; he'd openly asked for the job that Armando Dippet had refused him at the age of eighteen, and he'd told Dumbledore that he'd seen and done much since he left Hogwarts, and that he could show and tell the students things they could gain from no other wizard.

Dumbledore had said nothing for a while, and then Dumbledore had spoken of the whispers of his doings on the Continent, the sort of ugly rumours that are spread by petty, small-minded, envious people who haven't the strength to seize power when it is offered to them. He'd thought that Dumbledore would understand that, Dumbledore was a great wizard himself – Dumbledore might be a Muggle-loving old fool, but he was also a great wizard - so he'd said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore had looked unimpressed and questioned, snidely, the merits of his achievements, and that had really angered him. He'd been a powerful enough wizard when he left Borgin and Burkes, because how strong an Imperius Curse does it take to force a house-elf to poison her mistress? And since then he's done remarkable things - he's undergone the most dangerous magical transformations, he's experimented, he's pushed the boundaries of magic further than they have ever been pushed, he's taken steps to secure his immortality which no other wizard has ever dared to take. And Dumbledore had the gall to start preaching about magic of a kind that he, Lord Voldemort, the most brilliant student ever to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was woefully ignorant!

He couldn't keep his face expressionless under this kind of provocation but he'd kept a grip on himself, and he'd pointed out, quite calmly and reasonably, that he'd seen nothing that supported Dumbledore's pronouncement that love is more powerful than the kind of magic that he admires - and in which he is so proficient. And when Dumbledore had suggested that he had been looking in the wrong places, he'd turned that to his advantage, asked what better place to start fresh researches than at Hogwarts, and said, rather extravagantly, " I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

But Dumbledore had merely raised his eyebrows and dropped the words "Death Eaters" into the conversation, and that had both frightened and surprised him, because how could Dumbledore know that even now he was assembling the beginnings of an army? Had a traitor talked? But he can trust his Death Eaters, they are bound to him by an enchantment of his own invention and they all know that once they've taken the Dark Mark, it's a lifetime of service or death. Then Dumbledore had named the companions awaiting his return in the Hog's Head and that had really rattled him, but he'd shrugged it off, it would never do to let Dumbledore guess how discomforted he was. But then Dumbledore had let slip that no extraordinary power explained this alarming knowledge – he was merely friendly with the local barmen!

And now Dumbledore is setting down his empty goblet, drawing himself up in his seat and putting the tips of his fingers together in that characteristic gesture - and Dumbledore is no longer playing with him, Dumbledore is issuing an open challenge, Dumbledore is asking why he'd requested a job that he does not want.

He's looking coldly surprised, because this is a job he wants very much, why else would he have humbled himself in this way, why else would he have come to Dumbledore in a manner of a supplicant? But if Dumbledore doesn't want to give him the job ...

And Dumbledore isn't going to give him the job – and now he's on his feet and he doesn't bother to conceal his rage and hatred; this is a declaration of war, and he's made a fool of himself, coming here and asking for a position that Dumbledore was never, _never_ going to give him!

But in truth it's been war between them since the day that Dumbledore humiliated him in the orphanage, the day that Dumbledore made it clear that it's all about power - the power that comes out of the tip of a wand - and Dumbledore knows it, too, and Dumbledore knows that he is no longer an ignorant child, to be frightened by a burning wardrobe!

And to his amazement Dumbledore is dropping his defences, Dumbledore is showing his thoughts and feelings, showing sorrow and regret - showing _weakness_ – and his hand twitches towards the pocket where he keeps his wand, because this time Dumbledore isn't the only one who knows how to do magic. For a moment he imagines the flash of green light, because there's no shield that will block the _Avada Kedavra_, no counter-spell; Dumbledore prattles on about death being the next great adventure, but there is nothing worse than the darkness, the abyss, the _nothingness_ of death, and it would give him the greatest satisfaction to demonstrate this to Dumbledore, personally.

Then the moment passes - Dumbledore is still too formidable an adversary - so he turns away without another word and closes the study door behind him. But as he descends the spiral stairway, he's thinking that if he can't have what he wants, no one else shall have it, either. And then another thought strikes him, he won't have to wait until he's Minister for Magic to continue Salazar Slytherin's noble work, he has the ring, the locket and the cup as well as the diary - and when the time is right the diary can be used as a weapon, the memories of his sixteen year old self preserved within it can be used to unleash the Basilisk again and drive the Mudbloods out of the school. And perhaps Dumbledore as well, if the business is carefully managed.


	3. Albus Dumbledore

**Chapter 3**

**Albus Dumbledore**

He'd heard the knock on the door and he'd taken a moment to prepare his defences - Tom is a natural Legilimens and he would hardly need his wand to see an unguarded thought - before he'd called, "Enter!" And the moment Tom entered the room he'd known that at least some of the ugly rumours must be true, because Tom was no longer the handsome boy who'd graduated from Hogwarts; he showed all the outward signs of numerous dangerous magical transformations – his features were no longer finely carved but appeared as if they had been burned and blurred, there was something reptilian about the flattened nose and slit-like nostrils, and the whites of the eyes had a bloody look. But Tom's face was as pale as ever, as pale as the snow glistening on the shoulders of his long black travelling cloak.

He'd greeted Tom courteously, gestured towards a chair; Tom had made some conventional remark about him being a worthy choice as Headmaster, and he'd noted that the voice, always controlled and unemotional – except when Tom exerted himself to be charming - was slightly higher and colder than it had been.

He'd offered Tom a drink, and Tom had said that would be welcome; he'd come a long way – and he'd thought, yes, I know, you've come all the way from the Continent, accompanied by wizards you've controlled since you were all boys at Hogwarts, and why? What has brought you back to Britain, and to Hogwarts?

He'd busied himself pouring the wine, but he'd been aware that Tom was glancing keenly around the room, there's something here that interests him - and it's not the whirring little silver trinkets that fascinate most visitors.

He'd returned to his seat behind his desk, and he asked, "So, Tom ... to what do I owe the pleasure?" And he'd been genuinely curious as to why Tom had made an appointment to see the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it seemed impossible that Tom could be seeking the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. For a start the vacancy hasn't even been advertised, and secondly Tom couldn't be deluded enough to think that the only teacher who had never been taken in by brave, clever, handsome Tom Riddle, Head Boy and model student, would ever willingly let him back into Hogwarts. Not that he had anything more to go on than suspicion, but how hard is it draw the connection between a Parselmouth and Slytherin's monster?

Tom had sipped his wine for a moment, and then he'd said, "They do not call me 'Tom' any more. These days I am known as -"

He'd cut him off, he knows the name that Tom has proclaimed to his followers as his true name, and it's a curious and disturbing name, a name that denotes some deep, unwholesome fascination with death; and he was not willing to use it.

He'd raised his glass in a polite toast, Tom's face had remained expressionless and his eyes had remained guarded, but it was clear that the use of the name that he'd discarded had touched a nerve – and he'd been powerfully reminded of the boy who'd muttered, resentfully, "There are a lot of Toms."

Then Tom had asked why he'd chosen to remain at Hogwarts, and he'd given Tom an honest reply, and reminded Tom that he, too, had once seen the attraction of teaching.

But Tom had persisted in asking why he'd several times refused the post of Minister for Magic, and he'd cut him off again – if Tom had to ask the question, he'd never understand the answer, and if Tom has political aspirations, surely he must know that ten years of self-imposed exile on the Continent, consorting with the worst of the wizarding world, will have done nothing to advance them.

Tom had sipped his wine in silence for a little while after that, and then Tom had surprised him by asking for the job that Armando Dippet had refused him at the age of eighteen. He'd taken his time before replying because he was more alarmed than he was prepared to admit that Tom seemed to know so much about what goes on at Hogwarts, and he'd been frankly taken aback that Tom actually seemed to think that the things he'd done since he left his position with Borgin and Burkes qualified him to teach. Finally, he'd said that he'd heard the rumours of Tom's doings - and that he should be sorry to believe half of them.

But Tom had claimed that what he had been doing was greatness, his eyes had burned red with excitement and pride as he boasted of his experiments, of having pushed the boundaries of magic further than they have ever been pushed - and he'd corrected him, pointed out that Tom is woefully, wilfully ignorant of magic at its deepest and most mysterious, of the bond that exists between wizards where one saves the life of another, of the love of a mother for her child ...

And that, too, had touched a nerve – an ugly smile had appeared on Tom's face, more threatening than a look of rage, and Tom had said that he'd seen nothing in the world that suggested that love was a more powerful force than the Dark magic that has always fascinated him.

Then Tom had pressed him for the Defence position again, and said, "I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command." He'd raised his eyebrows at this extravagant promise, and he'd said that even if he was prepared to offer a job to Tom, he couldn't believe that Tom would be willing to disband his Death Eaters – and that was another disturbing, frightening name, hinting at some curious obsession with death, or perhaps with immortality.

Tom hadn't been able to prevent himself from showing both fear and anger at the use of the name that he'd given to his closest followers, Tom's eyes had flashed red and the slit-like nostrils had flared, and when he'd named each of the little group of servants awaiting their master's return at the Hog's Head, Tom had looked really discomforted.

But now he's tired of playing games with Tom Riddle, tired of verbal duelling, so he's asking, "Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Tom is looking coldly surprised, claiming that, on the contrary, he wants the job very much.

Oh, Tom wants to come back to Hogwarts, but not to teach – so what is it that he's after? For once, why doesn't Tom try a frank request, rather than manipulation or threats?

And of course he doesn't want a Dark wizard inside the walls of Hogwarts, and Tom could never have expected that he would!

Tom is standing up, making no attempt to conceal his rage and hatred, asking whether this is his final word – and now it's an open declaration of war. But in truth it's been war between them since that day in the Muggle orphanage, that day when he'd tried to show the rather nasty little boy who'd used his nascent magical power to terrorise the other children how magic should _not_ be used, and tried to make Tom understand that he wouldn't tolerate theft and bullying, even against Muggles.

He feels a great sadness, a sorrow and a regret that he doesn't try to hide, because he'd never wanted it to end this way - and Tom isn't a child any more, to be frightened by a burning wardrobe. Something went horribly wrong that day at the orphanage, although he doesn't quite know what it was and he doesn't know what else he could have done when he discovered Tom's little hoard of stolen trinkets but punish him for his crimes.


End file.
